The Ingram-Lewis Chronicles Pt. 04

"Stevens, let me disabuse you of one thing you just said. I am not threatening you with a beating, believe me. I am actually going to beat you here and now. It is a reality, not a threat or a promise; you had better accept the fact that you are going to get your arse beaten. Now, Stevens, for your information, the Headmaster has decided that the standard, shall we call it "tariff" for normal offences are to be twelve strokes, as I told you all at Court a little while ago. The Headmaster thinks, and I totally agree with him, that six strokes of the cane are simply not enough to teach a boy a lesson. And so, Stevens you had qualified for a twelve stroke beating by virtue of your dereliction of duty this lunch hour. Note I say "had qualified" which was the situation before you addressed me with you insulting remarks. Stevens, your comments to me were not those a gentleman would make to anyone, let alone to his immediate superior. Therefore you will receive an additional three strokes over and above the standard number."

"Oh fuck you, Ingram-Lewis; if you think I am taking that nonsense from jumped up nobody like you you are bloody-well mistaken. There is no way I am going to let you thrash my arse. Do I make myself clear?"

"Six additional strokes, Stevens; pray continue if you wish, for there is still a good margin available before we reach the absolute maximum number of strokes set by the Board of Governors, which for your information is twenty-four: a round two dozen. You will appreciate that you are now at eighteen, so there are still six more cuts available if you which to avail yourself of them and go for what might be called "a grand slam". Now, Stevens as you seem to want to question my authority, I will give you a choice; either you take the beating from me here and now, which is the gentlemanly thing to do, or we go together straight to the Headmaster and let him deal with you directly. Far be it for me to prejudge matters, but I think that Mr. Godber, when he hears what you have done, or rather what you did not do, will reduce you to the ranks."

"You will no longer be a prefect and will be obliged to hand back your mortar board and lapel star. And in addition you will certainly receive a birching. So Stevens, there you have the alternatives. Neither is particularly attractive for you, but you must decide. I shall turn my back on you to check whether another cane form muy collection might be more suited to the present situation that the one you see reposing there across the chair. When I turn around, I except to see you presenting our naked arse to me across that chair. If that is not the case, then we shall immediately go to see Mr. Godber. I trust you understand your options."

Stevens was now completely silent, He realised that he was in what might well be described as dire straits. Patrick spent a couple of minutes with his back turned to Stevens whilst he pursued his inventory of canes, trying to decided which he thought would be the most painful implement to apply to Stevens's arse. When he turned around he saw that Stevens had decided that he would, in fact take the beating and Patrick was presented with a magnificent pair of muscular buttocks. For all his braggadocio, Stevens was a fine sportsman, a bit of a bully, but as a rugby player he had a strong figure and his arse was well rounded and muscular. It was simply crying out to be beaten. Patrick found himself hardening at the thought of what he was about to do; of the pain he intended to inflict, for with Stevens's intransigence he intended to give his arse a really hard roasting.

"Stevens, keep absolutely still until I have finished with you. Keep your hands on the seat of the chair and do touch your arse. This is, I am afraid, going to be very painful for you and I suggest you bite on this cork to help m you bear the pain." Patrick paused for a few moments admiring the two magnificent globes of flesh which he was about to thrash. He decided in his own mind to start with one stroke right across the middle, covering the two halves and then process with five strokes upwards, each spaced by a thin even space. Then he would transfer his attention to the lower part of Stevens's anatomy and give him six severe strokes in that most sensitive part, the seat. Then he thought he would pause for a couple of minutes before returning to the upper half, where he intended to place the remaining six strokes directly on the first furrows he had ploughed. With eighteen strokes of a whippy cane applied with all the force of Patrick's right arm Stevens would get up from the chair with a very, very sore arse indeed. It would be a lesson he would never forget.

Patrick had a natural sense of the theatrical and allowed Stevens to stew in his own juice, so to speak, his arse in the air, whilst he himself flexed the cane and gave it several quick, menacing cuts through the air. Then he approached his target and began by very gently tapping the centre spot when intended to begin. He could see Stevens arse quivering as he felt the tap tap tap of the cane, wondering when the first fateful stroke would descend. When it did it took away is breath. It was like being cut with a knife. The pain was excruciating. Patrick had decided that there was no rush to finish, so he allowed about ten seconds between each stroke so that Stevens could fully appreciate what was happening to him. Stroke followed stroke, with unerring accuracy and after the fourth stroke, Stevens began to howl. By the time Patrick had started on his lower arse, he was in tears, which was not at all surprising as Patrick truly laid the cane on as hard as he could and the thin flexible rod cut into Stevens's arse with great force.

After twelve strokes, Patrick stopped for five minutes. Stevens made as if to rise from the chair but was stopped by Patrick; "Not yet, my friend; you still have six more cuts to come, so just stay where you are. we are simply taking a short pause to allow me to regain my strength."

When it was all over, Stevens raised himself painfully from the chair, rubbed his richly striped arse, pulled on his clothes and made as if to leave. Patrick said: "Stevens, before you go it is customary to thank me for having corrected you." He offered him his hand, which was taken by Stevens through his tears and the requisite thanks were given. "You may go now, Stevens, but let that be a lesson to you. No one in this school is above the law, me included. Don't forget to lock the doors tomorrow lunch time and curb that abusive lip of yours." The beating had taken a full fifteen minutes, given the pauses between the strokes that Patrick had taken and Stevens left with an arse, pulsing with pain, very tender and raging with heat; he barely knew what to do with himself. He had learned a serious lesson as he admitted to himself privately. But was that enough to set him on the straight and narrow path which all Rigbyans were expected to follow?

By now Patrick himself was in a highly aroused state. He went to the door to lock it before going to his bathroom intending to relieve his sexual tension in the classic solo-male manner. As he was about to turn the key in the lock, there came a knock at the door; it was his friend and sex partner of the past summer holidays, Roderick Pennington. By way of a brief recapitulation back to what had been a sex- filled summer for the two boys, Roderick had spend the whole of August with Patrick at his family home, Ingram House, in Northumberland. There, together with a sexually very active young footman and an assistant gardener, the two of them had fine honed their techniques at gay sex. But as an additional bonus, both young studs had been introduced to heterosexual sex with a kitchen maid, Rose, who had generously bestowed her favours on both young men. So it was two sexually experienced young men who greeted one another at that moment.

"My god," said Patrick, "Roderick you are a gift from heaven as I am absolutely dying for a fuck." And he quickly explained to his friend how he had come to be in such an aroused state. Roderick, like Patrick was always ready for any form of sexual pleasure and quickly gave his friend access to his most vital parts to allow him to release his tension. The relationship between Patrick and Roderick had gone way beyond the classic act of buggery, forbidden in theory, but tolerated in practice, in English public schools. Theirs had become a deep homosexual relationship. Whilst buggery was forbidden but tolerated, as the school authorities realised that it was essentially due to the lack of female company which led the lads to fuck each other, a deep relationship such as now existed between Patrick and Roderick would have lead to instant expulsion if discovered.

Roderick stayed until late that evening with Patrick and as they lay together in Patrick's bed after slaking their sexual thirsts on each other, Patrick said to Roderick: "Listen Rod, I know you play the field here at school but for Christ's sake, don't get caught at it. If you are, then old Godber will have to birch you and with the present new arrangements with myself, the old boy might well ask me to officiate. And as you might imagine, the last thing I want to do is to thrash your arse. So, Roderick, if you bugger another of your classmates, I don't care personally (he did, in fact, as he wanted Roderick entirely for himself) but do make sure you are not caught "in flagrante" otherwise I might find myself obliged to roast your arse, I know I did it once, and it brought us together, but I don't want to have to do it again."

Roderick, somewhat cavalier about the whole thing, brushed it off and said: "Patrick, stop worrying. It will never come to that."

Patrick replied: "I hope to hell you're right. Please, please watch it!"

CHAPTER 4

Lying in bed that same evening, Patrick reflected on his first day at Rigby as Head Boy. If anyone had told him that he would have beaten no less than fourteen different arses that one day, he would have roared with laughter. But it was true and Patrick had to admit to himself that he had enjoyed every single moment where he had wielded the cane personally. For him there was something intently satisfying in the sound of a well seasoned rattan cane landing on the bare flesh of a well-presented pair of naked buttocks. It was for Patrick and for many other prefects like him, not only at Rigby but throughout the English public school system, a most satisfying experience; highly homoerotic in most cases, leaving the beater himself in such a highly arouse state that on occasions he climaxed in his pants. All in all this had been a most exhilarating day for Patrick in the exercising of his powers as Head Boy in loco domini. He looked forward to the rest of the first term and the two terms to follow.

After this dramatic start to the term, the rest of that first week was much quieter The Court of Prefects met each evening at eight o'clock but there were only two beatings to be carried out: boys who had been cited by their masters for some offence or other, which the Court punished in its thorough way and the two young miscreants left with burning backsides. So the first week's "arse count" was a nifty fourteen: a very creditable performance.

Patrick took the opportunity to tell his fellow prefects about the Headmaster's thoughts on the new entrants that term: "The Headmaster is of the firm opinion that pretty well all of the new entrants need to feel the cane on their arses sometime during their first year. They have to become accustomed to the fact that the cane and the birch are part and parcel of daily life at Rigby. He further thinks that we should have an objective: to ensure that at least one third, that's about twenty boys, get their arses roasted in the first month, rising to at least half of all new entrants by the end of term."

"But the ultimate objective is to see that by the end of the school year all of the new entrants have experienced the pleasure of a naked arse beating and understand the meaning of Rigby Rigour. So gentlemen be vigilant; don't let these new lads get away with anything and haul them before the Court for the slightest infraction, so that we can warm their arses in the traditional way. With a little effort we should be able to exceed the Headmaster's expectations; so let's set ourselves a private objective of thrashing half the new boys by the middle of this term with two thirds before Christmas. And gentlemen, let us adopt as standard practice at the court, of giving delinquents six good whacks with the bath brush before applying the cane. I cannot help but feel that a pre-warmed arse beats better than a cold one. So let's make the brush the perquisite of the junior prefects and the cane that of the seniors. The distribution of these "unfortunate" duties I shall leave to you to decide. But each and every one of you has to be prepared to share the burden of this heavy task. It is one of the crosses we, as prefects, have to bear!"

Patrick's concluding remarks were made with heavy irony, for as he well knew, the prefects, lock, stock and barrel, enjoyed nothing more than beating arse; or perhaps in the senior ranks, fucking it. In much the same way, boys had a lively morbid interest in watching a classmate being punished: it was human nature: a highly homoerotic experience even for the younger boys, whose immature cocks hardened as they watched a classmate take a beating.

On Saturday morning Patrick found a note under the door of his study. It was from the Headmaster inviting him to take a glass of port with him in his lodgings on Sunday evening after supper. "An occasion for us to review the first week's progress under the new arrangements," the Headmaster had written. And so Sunday evening towards eight o'clock, Patrick was again to be found in the company of the Headmaster: the man who had granted him his exceptional powers.

Curiously, although consumption of alcohol of any kind was strictly forbidden to the pupils and which, if discovered, led to a mandatory birching, the Headmaster, Mr. Goober, apparently saw no inconsistency in plying his Head Boy with port, whilst simultaneously exhorting him to apply the birch to any and all boys caught drinking alcohol. Equally, as we shall see later, the fact that the Headmaster himself indulged in sexual relations with his Head Boy did not deter him from inflicting a mandatory birching on any boys caught in the act of buggery.

Mr. Godber was a prime example of the philosophy "Do as I say, not as I do." It is unlikely that any such considerations of inconsistency had ever crossed Mr. Godber's mind. For him, his universe was Rigby; he was in charge and people did what he said. There was no question at all that the system was rotten to the core: that was the way it had always been, was now and would probably be in the future! Actually, it worked; it was not broken, so why try to mend it?

Mr. Godber began: "Well, Ingram-Lewis, do please sit down and let me pour you a glass of port. The butler tells me that this is my last bottle of Taylor's 1865: 35 years old: absolutely at its prime. I did by a pipe: that's about 700 bottles in all you know and I have been drinking my way through it for the last twenty five years. Well, you seem to have made a very good start in maintaining discipline at Rigby. I've taken a glance at the punishment register and see that you managed to cane no less than 16 boys in the first week of term. That's by way of being a record, I think. And what is certainly a record is that you corrected that perpetual miscreant, Tomlinson, by noon on the very first day of term. I hope you laid it on good and hard, for he is a problem. But I also saw you had beaten Stevens, one of your fellow prefects, rather severely; what was that about?"

"Well sir, Stevens was the reason the twelve first formers from class 1A got their backsides beaten, including Tomlinson's younger brother, by the way. I caught twelve of them at lunch time in the form room having a chalk fight and the Court of Prefects beat them for that the same evening. But it was Stevens who left all three classrooms unlocked over the lunch break that first day when he was the duty prefect responsible for locking the rooms. And so I had to beat him for that. He got eighteen rather than the usual twelve cuts as he became verbally totally abusive to me when I told him he had to be punished. So sir, I am afraid he went away with a very sore backside. I am not totally sure, sir, that Stevens will prove a reliable prefect and he certianly does ot behave as a gentleman."

"Excellent, excellent, Ingram-Lewis; I am delighted that you are not afraid to take on a senior boy, a prefect to boot, and thrash him. And if Stevens was abusive, then you were quite right to give him six extra strokes. But you know, Ingram-Lewis, I think we need to keep a sharp eye on Stevens in the light of is dereliction of duty on his first day as a junior prefect. My colleagues were not at all keen that I promote him to prefect, but I overrode their view and did it anyway. But I was really the only one of the staff in his favour; I may have made a mistake; so, keep an eye on him. If there are any more problems, send him to me and I will deal with him personally."

"Moving on to another matter, Ingram-Lewis, I think you should give serious thought to the question of the birch. I am anxious that we maintain the birch as an implement of punishment here at Rgby. And I do not want the boys to get the idea that its use has been abandoned. Now, clearly the way to ensure that does not happen is for you to birch a few bottoms. Quite specifically, any cases of buggery between boys of any age, is a mandatory birching offence and boys involved will get eighteen strokes. Any boy caught stealing should also be birched; eighteen strokes again. And boys who are repeat offenders in spite of numerous warnings and canings should also be given a taste of the birch on their naked buttocks. But there are many other instances, which I am sure will come your way in the course of the term, where you could quite easily justify giving a boy a good birching."

"The point of all this, Ingram-Lewis, is that I think you ought to find some reason to birch at least one boy before the end of the month. The boys have got to see that it is not just a threat but that it is currently being used on miscreants if they deserve it. It's the time honoured practice here at Rigby. Now I went into the punishment room just the other day and there are no fresh birches available at the moment, So, Ingram-Lewis, I suggest that in the next few days you talk to Mr. Patterson, the head gardener and get him to make up few new birches for you. You need to be prepared; to be able to strike whilst the iron is hot, so to speak. I always used to birch one or two boys quite early in the term; they merited it, of course, but it served to underline the fact that the birch was alive and well and would be used on any errant bottom if required."

So there it was; the Headmaster wanted Patrick to make sure that birches were available and used in the near future. It was reassuring to Patrick that the Headmaster had clearly approved of his first week's performance with the cane and wanted him to use the birch on some poor lad's arse in the very near future. The birch, for the Headmaster, had to remain a reality, part and parcel of Rigby Rigour and not just a threat. As far as finding a suitable arse to flog, Patrick did not see any great difficulty, for boys were boys and there was no telling as to what mischief they might get up to. And, of course, Patrick enjoyed beating naked arse, so he was unlikely to miss an opportunity to move to the next stage. Yes, Mr.Godber had made an excellent choice in Patrick.

"Well Patrick, I think that concludes all the immediate business."